A TRIP WITH THE WRONG GUN. 



\V. F. NICHOLS. 



One morning I took a light 12 gauge 

 shotgun belonging to a young friend and 

 went up the Yampa river, in Colorado. The 

 trip was taken for the double purpose of 

 killing snow-shoe rabbits and looking after 

 a poisoned bait I had put out the day before 

 for mountain lions; there being a band of 

 7 in that vicinity. As my rabbit shooting 

 was necessarily at short range and the little 

 gun an extra good one, I had loaded my 

 shells with but J/2 dram of powder and less 

 than Y / 2 ounce of No. 4 shot, in order not to 

 mutilate my game. I walked along over the 

 ice on Norwegian snow-shoes, starting the 

 rabbits from under the banks and shooting 

 them as they ran into the willows, at from 

 40 to 75 feet. 



Nearing my lion bait I saw within 40 yards 

 of it, an enormous male lion on the low bank 

 close to the ice. He lay at full length, his 

 head between his forefeet, quietly looking 

 at me. I was then within 15 feet of his 

 head and as the only possible chance of se- 

 curing him I determined to attempt to put 

 his eyes out. I raised the gun and fired the 

 little charge of shot in his face. Quick as a 

 flash he was up and off. When 30 or 40 

 yards away I fired again at his shoulder, but 

 with no perceptible effect. Going to his 

 trail I found blood and followed on as fast 

 as 20 inches of snow would allow; the route 

 being so steep, rocky and covered with 

 bushes as to render it impossible to use 

 snow shoes. Finding blood at short inter- 

 vals I kept on and had gone about 2 miles 

 before it occurred to me I was on a foolish 

 errand, as I stood no chance of killing the 

 lion with the light charges I had in the gun. 

 So, being pretty well worn out, and with 

 fully 3 miles between me and home, I took 

 the back track. By the time I reached the 

 place where I had left my snow shoes it was 



quite dark and cold, and without looking at 

 my bait I put on my shoes, took my rabbits 

 and hurried home. 



Early the following morning I was back 

 again, this time carrying my .45-70 Win- 

 chester. Taking the trail I followed among 

 huge granite rocks and fallen pine timber 

 about 34 of a mile to where the lion had gone 

 into a crevice in a wall of rocks. Seeing 

 no other way out of it, or rather no other 

 way of getting him out of it, I prepared 

 for a fight by placing my long knife where 

 it could be easily reached; then holding my 

 rifle ready for action I crawled into the den. 

 I had not gone more than 12 or 15 feet into 

 the rocks when I heard his claws rattling 

 on the stones below me, and knew he must 

 be making his way out lower down the wall. 

 I hurriedly backed out and looked over the 

 cliffs. I saw the lion bounding down the 

 mountain side, about 75 yards away. A 

 shot from the rifle brought him down. The 

 bullet struck him in the back near the hip 

 joint and ranging downward cut the point 

 of his heart. I took his measure before skin- 

 ning him — 8 feet 9 inches, from tip of nose to 

 tip of tail. 



On my way home I stopped to examine 

 my bait and fcund 2 young lions laying dead 

 by it. They had evidently been there when 

 I started the old fellow near by. Next 

 morning I found the skin of a third 2-year 

 old near the bait, and the track of the old 

 female leading away. She had eaten every 

 particle of the young one, from the head 

 down to the paws and had turned the skin 

 wrong side out. I followed her trail about 

 y 2 mile, started her from under a ledge of 

 rocks and shot her. That made 5 lions 

 killed in 3 days, 2 old and 3 young ones. 

 The old female measured 7 feet 10 inches 

 from tip to tip. 



HIS FIRST POINT. 

 *75 



